


the seas will split

by orangesparks



Category: Mad Men
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangesparks/pseuds/orangesparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like mother, like daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the seas will split

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apricity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricity/gifts).



"I left my lunchpail on the bus." 

Her mother fixed her with a _look_ , arching an eyebrow before murmuring, "Maybe, dear, it's better that you did." 

(She had been nine, and had learned not to mention anything involving food to her mother ever again.) 

-

How unfair was it that no matter how much she felt she'd grown up, matured, _improved_ , still, that unsympathetic look, that coolly indifferent tone - they always made her feel worse than any sharp smack to the cheek ever did.

"You keep putting yourself out there," William said, shaking his head, after one particularly savage fight (a fight that had caused even her _mother_ to raise her voice, she who normally dealt blows with icy looks and soft, whispered words). 

And why not? Why shouldn't she, put herself "out there"? Did she not have a right to the occasional approval of her parents, some small acknowledgement that they no longer found her to be a _complete_ embarrassment? 

Instead, she directed a cool stare in his direction. He let out a hollow laugh.

"Christ. You look just like her, sometimes. Y'know that?"

It wasn't a compliment.

William kept himself busy, kept himself out of the house, baseball games and paper routes and dates with awkward girls who never knew how to set their hair the right way, but until very recently, Elizabeth mostly stayed home, quiet and chubby and a disappointment to her mother, who made her walk all the way home from the grocery store in a cruelly loving effort to teach her a _lesson._

Not that William was as perfect as her mother liked to believe. Oh, there was plenty that Elizabeth could bite back in his direction, believe _her_. Yet she remained content to keep her lips thinned and arms crossed, thin and elbows jutting and practically a set of warning cross-bones over her narrow chest.

"What did she say this time?" William demanded. "What was so bad that you're now suddenly wishing her death?", and she didn't bother to correct him on the 'suddenly' part. 

"I'm going out," she said crisply.

Two hours later, after walking up and down every inch of Lower Merion so that the sidewalks nearly bore her footprints, she still couldn't excise the words from her mind.

( _Sometimes, Elizabeth, you're just not worth the effort._ )

-

"Joanie, you're not wearing _that._ "

Though phrased as a question, the words left little room for argument. Joan swallowed down a sigh and directed a poisonously sweet smile in her mother's direction.

"But I _am_."

Sliding her hands down the sides of the violet silk fabric, the way it clung to her rapidly-developing curves, she tilted her head slowly in mock-confusion. Her mother narrowed her eyes.

"Joanie, you told me you've only just met this boy."

That wasn't exactly true. Sam Holden was someone she was actually very familiar with - four years of sitting behind him and his dark wavy hair and broad shoulders in homeroom before he'd finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. All details unnecessary for her mother to know. 

( _You mean you've known him all this time, and only_ now _does he show any interest? I don't want to deflate your good mood, Joanie, but we both know he's just looking for--_ )

"Yes," she clipped out.

" _Well._ " Gail Holloway's wide hands were planted firmly on her hips. "You don't want him to think any less of you."

Though she knew her mother was being perfectly ridiculous, a small lump still began forming in Joan's throat. She pressed her lips tighter together, willing it away. Brushing a loose curl from her forehead, she met her mother's gaze levelly before lifting her coat from the armchair. 

"Of course. At least, not any less than Daddy thought of _you._ "

-

Joan Harris skidded to a halt in the middle of Gimbel's, only just managing to smoothly stop the baby carriage in front of her.

Was that--?

 _No._ A hand slowly rose to her mouth, lips parting in shock.

With a concerned look down at the carriage, confirming the sudden movement hadn't woken Kevin, she looked back up at what surely was a mirage and blinked once, slowly. 

Not more than a few yards away was Mrs. Draper - the _former_ Mrs. Draper - inspecting a rack of pastel housedresses, looking a way she had most definitely _not_ looked the last Joan had seen her. Though the woman's pale blonde hair was as perfectly coiffed as ever, red lipstick lined and slicked on like bright armor, the flesh of her cheeks was much more full, her paisley dress fitting much more snugly than it was meant to be worn.

Well. This had the potential to be dreadfully embarrassing. 

Joan was just about to wander back in the direction she came and inspect the new collection of bathrobes that were _suddenly_ much more interesting when Mrs. Draper (no, no-- Frank? Francis, yes, that was it, now) looked up and caught her gaze. 

Joan felt herself slowly reddening, though she had no idea what for. She was perfectly ready to offer a bland smile and continue on her way, when Mrs. Francis continued the eye contact, and--

\-- _smiled_.

Was she being mistaken for someone else?

"Hello," Betty Francis said, in that soft, almost adolescent voice of hers, and Joan stared at her before the practiced smile of a million client meetings and luncheons slid firmly into place.

"Hello."

Betty set back the pale yellow shirtwaist dress she'd been inspecting, striding closer, and was it Joan's imagination, or did she somehow look _younger_ , despite it being a few years since she'd last seen the woman? 

Of course, Joan thought, not quite kindly, that could have also been the extra weight. 

There were a million pleasant lies forming in her mind, whirring and sorting themselves from most to least true, when Betty peered into the carriage and her smile widened.

"How old?"

Joan blinked, startled. "Pardon?"

But Betty hadn't noticed the faux-pas at all, her gaze unwavering from Kevin's sleeping face. "How old is he?"

Joan almost whispered the number of months, the words softer than she meant them to be. 

"Before you know it, he'll be in school," said Betty. "Growing up. Sally's nearly a teenager, now."

_I wanted a girl, at first. Could have. She'd be older than yours._

"Oh, yes." Joan smiled, then laughed, lightly, though the idea didn't offer much humor to her. Betty met her gaze, and something told her that the other woman privately agreed.


End file.
